


lay down your arms (give up the fight)

by folignos



Category: Hockey RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 07:11:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1419274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/folignos/pseuds/folignos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex knows how soulbonds work, okay, he's not an idiot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lay down your arms (give up the fight)

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt on [hockeyrarepair](hockeyrarepair.livejournal.com), "Alexander Ovechkin/anybody, soulbond - this was probably the most surprising thing about finally finding his soulmate"
> 
> I... sort of followed the prompt.
> 
> Obligatory thanks to Jenna, queen of commas, without whom this fic quite literally wouldn't exist
> 
> Title from Green Day's 21 Guns
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://toewses.tumblr.com) for more hockey shenanigans!

Alex knows how soulbonds work, okay, he's not an idiot. (Well he kind of is, but not about  _this,_ soulbonds are Not To Be Fucked Around With.) 

He knows that they happen when you're split wide open, when your emotions are laid bare on the floor, when you're so happy you could cry, or when you're so heartbroken that tears just aren't enough. 

So in retrospect, he really should have seen it coming.

- 

The loss to Canada in Vancouver is... suffocating. 

Alex clings to Zhenya like the world is ending, feels the heavy weight of an arm across his shoulder as they stand on the ice and try to remember how to breathe.  

_Izvinite_ , Zheyna says, over and over.  _Izvinite_. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.  

It doesn't help.

-

They go to the airport together, sit silently in the cab and together in the airport. 

Zhenya's always been comfortable in his own silence, but Alex is itching out of his skin. He doesn't know what to say that isn't  _what did we do wrong?_  

Zhenya's phone beeps at him with a text. A slow smile spreads across his face as he reads it, and Alex already knows who sent it. Something dark curls in his belly, as if it had any right to. Alex closes his eyes and breathes. 

When he opens them, Zhenya is looking at him, head tilted, eyebrows furrowed. It reminds Alex of Gera. He shakes his head and smiles wide enough to show his missing tooth. Slowly, slowly, Zhenya turns back to his phone. 

Alex's flight is called first. He embraces Zhenya like a brother, wetly kisses his cheek just to watch his nose wrinkle, fighting off the laughter. 

'Don't fall in love with Sidney Crosby.' 

Alex says it without thinking. He doesn't realise it's not a joke until it's done. He tries to grin afterwards, but he knows Zhenya heard the broken-open tone of his voice. 

He picks up his bag and leaves without saying goodbye. Zhenya calls his name, almost like pleading, but Alex slips headphones in and pretends he didn't hear. 

- 

After Vancouver, NHL hockey feels smaller. 

The first time he steps on the ice after the break, he feels ill. They win, but it's no thanks to him. He's just trying to remember how to stay upright in his skates. It's like he's learning to walk all over again. 

The game against Tampa Bay is back in the Verizon Center. Alex stands tall in the cool of the rink. In his head, he thinks he can hear the scrape of blades against clean ice, and it feels like Russia. 

He flies across the ice and picks up three points. This is what he's supposed to do. 

- 

And that's how it goes. Some games he feels like he's skating through mud, like his head is splitting open every time he goes over the boards. Some games he's playing on fast forward. 

The Pittsburgh game arrives faster than Alex thought it would. He looks at his phone for an hour the night before and he doesn't know if he's waiting for a call or steeling himself to pick the phone up and do it himself. 

- 

Alex's parents are soulbonded. He knows how rare that is, to have parents who aren't bonded to someone else.

Soulbonds make great highs, but they also make rock bottom a hell of a lot further down. Emotions reverberate. That's how the bond works. Like plucking a guitar string.

Alex had sat through every single soulbond seminar held at his school, and the mandatory workshops when he signed with Dynamo and then Washington. He'd listened carefully, filed away the appropriate information as it was relevant to hockey, and then promptly ignored everything that didn't apply to him. 

The thing about soulbonds in hockey is that if you're a forward, you don't bond. You just don't. Not to a player, anyway. 

Ninety percent of the league bonds are between D pairings. Occasionally you get a D-man who bonds to a goalie, like the rookie in Montreal who just bonded to their back up goalie a week ago, the first non d-pairing bond in hockey in over a decade. 

The point is, Alex knows if he bonds, it's going to be someone who doesn't play hockey. He doesn't know how he feels about that. 

He doesn't get to find out. 

- 

Pittsburgh is chippy. Always is.  

Alex spends half the game waiting to start a fight, and the other half getting in Fleury's face. 

He doesn't look at Zhenya. 

Three minutes into the second period, Backstrom gets tossed from the face-off dot. 

Alex doesn't realise he's squaring up against Zhenya until the puck is dropped. 

The world shifts on its axis just enough to knock him flat. Zhenya wins the face-off. Alex suddenly realises he can breathe again. 

He didn't even know he'd been choking. 

-

They win in a shootout. Alex barely even notices. 

He can feel something scrabbling at the back of his mind, like he's trying to remember something he'd forgotten when he was a child. 

In the locker room he checks his phone and finds a text from Zhenya, a single question mark. 

_i dont know_ , Alex texts back.

_dinner_ , Zhenya texts. 

Alex looks at his phone for a long time.  _okay_ , he says, and then pulls his jersey over his head. 

- 

Dinner is awful. 

At first. 

Zhenya doesn't hug him when they meet outside the visitor's locker room. The car ride is silent. Alex has to sit on his hands to stop himself reaching for Zhenya. 

When they're sitting at the table, the conversation is stilted, jagged shards of Russian. Alex flinches more than once. It feels like they're both waiting for the other person to make the first move. 

Alex is halfway through his meal when he brushes his knuckles against the bones of Zhenya's wrist, reaching for their glasses at the same time. It's like being dumped into a lake in the middle of winter. It's perfect. 

'Sasha,' Zhenya says. He sounds uncertain. Neither of them move their hands. 

'Tell me I'm not crazy,' Alex says. He might sound a little desperate, a little harsh, a little like he's begging, but this, this tiny point of contact, knuckle on wrist, is the most stable he's felt in weeks.

The most stable he's felt since Vancouver, he realises.

Everything slides into focus. Zhenya's lips are slightly parted. 

'Fuck.' Alex says. Zhenya's lips quirk up. 

'You're not crazy,' he says, soft. Alex breathes. He moves his hand. The sounds of the restaurant blend back in. He didn't notice they were missing. 

He spends the rest of the meal with one foot hooked around Zhenya's ankle. It's not the same as skin on skin, but it helps. Zhenya keeps touching him, just tiny fleeting brushes that Alex doesn't even notices until they're gone. It feels like he's trying to memorise the contours of Alex's hands. 

They still don't really talk. Alex knows they need to, eventually, but right now he's just soaking up the physicality of it all. 

He doesn't realise they have to part until the meal is over and they're standing outside in the snow. There are snowflakes in Zhenya's eyelashes.

Alex hugs him on impulse, tucks his face into Zhenya's neck and breathes. He counts his breaths so he doesn't say anything stupid. 

Like  _don't let me leave_.  _Come with me._

Like _I love you._  

- 

On the plane, Alex drafts thirteen different texts to Zhenya. 

He deletes all of them. 

He pulls his hood up and pretends to sleep until they land. 

- 

Alex gets tossed out of the Ottawa game for spearing one of the Sens with the blade of his stick, unprovoked. 

He hasn't lost his temper in a game in a long time, and as he's sitting in the locker room, stewing, he sorts through his thoughts, realises that he lashed out for no reason. It doesn't make sense, then, that he's still furious, barely keeping a lid on his anger. He feels like he's not in control of anything. 

He closes his eyes and breathes, tries to calm down. Slowly, slowly, he comes back to himself. 

- 

There's a text waiting for him on his phone when he checks it for the first time that night. It's from Zhenya. 

It just says  _sorry._  

As he looks at it, Alex suddenly understands. His phone beeps again before he can reply. 

_What do we do now?_  

Alex looks at the text. He seems to spend a lot of time just looking at his phone recently.

_i dont know._  

His phone buzzes again two minutes later.  _what do you know?_

_that this shouldnt have happened,_ Alex types out. His thumb hovers over the send button. He hits it, and turns his phone off. 

- 

Alex has three voicemails when he turns his phone on. Two of them are from Zhenya. 

He takes a deep breath, and lets the first one play. Zhenya doesn't identify himself. He's never needed to. Alex knows the clipped syllables of Zhenya's Russian better than he knows his own. 

'I think Jeffrey misses you. He went crazy when I came home after dinner, he must have been able to smell you on me.' There's a long pause. Alex can almost hear Zhenya thinking. 'He's not the only one,' Zhenya says, and hangs up. Alex flinches at the dial tone. 

It takes him a while to listen to the next one. 

'We're playing in Washington in a week's time,' Zhenya says. He sounds uncertain. 'We need to talk.' 

The third voicemail is from Sergei. It's not as soft as the first two.

 'I don't know what's happening between you and Zhenya. I don't particularly want to know. But you need to talk to him.' Sergei softens a little after that. 'Just... talk to him, Sasha.' 

Alex makes a cup of tea, and calls Zhenya. Gera sits on the couch next to him and pushes her head into his lap. 

The call is short, they mostly make plans for Zhenya to fly down the day before the game so they can talk properly, but by the time he hangs up, there's something uncoiling in Alex's gut. He feels less like he's wearing clothes made of sandpaper. He buries his hands in Gera's thick coat and almost smiles. 

- 

He picks Zhenya up at the airport and this time Zhenya hugs him first, sweeps him up in a full body embrace that makes Alex glad Washington isn't a hockey town. He breathes Zhenya in and feels his muscles loosen, inch by inch. 

He makes them both lunch, game-day food because he's playing Boston in six hours. They eat in silence, except for when he chides Zhenya for sneaking pieces of chicken to Gera under the table. Zhenya looks appropriately repentant, and then repeats the whole cycle against as soon as Alex looks away. 

Alex is painfully in love with him. 

- 

'So,' Zhenya says from where he's drying plates. Alex is up to his elbows in soapy water. 'We bonded.' 

Alex drops a spoon on his foot.

'I think so,' he says after a moment.

'I know so,' Zhenya says, almost teasing. 'I thought you were the smart one.'

Alex grins. Whatever else he and Zhenya are, they're always been friends. It's always been easy. 'I can't be the smart one and the talented one  _and_  the attractive one. I thought I'd throw you a bone.'

Zhenya makes an indignant noise and flicks him on the neck with the damp hand towel. 'So, what does it mean?' 

Alex looks round at him. Zhenya clarifies.

'I mean, for us. Where do we go from here?'

Alex chews the corner of his lower lip.

-

They end up Googling 'how to deal with a soulbond' on Alex's laptop.

Shockingly, it is not very helpful.

Alex toys with calling his mother, but he runs through the conversation in his head and decides that he'd probably rather play for the Sabres for the rest of his career. 

They end up experimenting with how it works exactly. Alex knows some stuff from the million and one seminars he'd sat through, but he knows Zhenya had fought tooth and nail against them, saying he'd rather be on the ice than in the classroom. Alex doesn't blame him, really.

Here are the things Alex knows about soulbonds:

1\. They only happen when a) there is skin on skin contact, b) strong emotions and c) an emotional connection. There are stories of complete strangers bonding, but it's rare. Almost as rare as two forwards who don't play on the same team bonding.

2\. They're, as far as anyone can work out, irreversible.

3\. They don't work like the movies tell you they do. Alex can't hear what Zhenya is thinking. They try that first, thinking loudly at the other person, but nothing. Alex is aware of Zhenya's presence, knows he's close, but that's about it.

They spend a lot of time touching. Alex doesn't comment on it. 

-

He offers to take Zhenya to the game, but he declines, says he's going to take Gera for a run and then probably have a nap. Alex leaves him to it.

They win in overtime on Alex's goal, and he's flushed with excitement in the locker room. He gets a text from Zhenya,  _congratulations_.

_You were watching?_ he texts back, towelling his hair until it stands on end.

_No_ , is all Zhenya says. Alex frowns at his phone, and changes into his suit.

-

Zhenya is asleep by the time Alex gets home, having spoken to what feels like every reporter in DC. He's crammed onto Alex's couch, with Gera using him as a pillow. Alex almost feels bad for having to wake him up.

Zhenya's t-shirt has ridden up slightly in his sleep. Alex places the palm of his hand on the small of Zhenya's back. He stirs.

'Hey,' he says, sleepy, squinting up at Alex. He makes no move to sit up.

'How did you know we'd won if you weren't watching the game?'

'I felt it,' Zhenya says. Alex blinks. 'Through the bond. You were so happy. It woke me up.'

Alex winces. 'Sorry.'

Zhenya sits up, curls long fingers around Alex's wrist. Something starts pooling, low in Alex's belly. He feels calm. Content. Like he's half asleep. 'Don't be,' Zhenya rumbles. 'You deserve to be happy.'

Alex doesn't know what to say to that. He licks his lips.

'I'm going to bed,' he says eventually. 'Come with me.'

There is a long pause. Alex fidgets. Gera sleeps on, undisturbed.

'Okay,' Zhenya says. Alex lets out a long breath. He takes his free hand and wraps it around the grip Zhenya has on his wrist, pulls gently. Zhenya follows him up the stairs silently.

-

Alex wakes up surrounded by Zhenya, tangled up in his long limbs, breathing in the smell of his shampoo. He wonders how long he can lie there.

His alarm goes off, and Zhenya stirs. Alex untangles himself and goes to shower. He knows that Zhenya wakes up in degrees.

If Alex stops to think about it, there isn't much he doesn't know about Zhenya. Not anymore.

-

'Me and Geno aren't dating, you know,' Crosby says at the face-off dot, low and earnest. Alex blinks at him.

'I know.'

'...Oh,' Crosby says. 'I thought...'

'Thought what?'

'The way you look at him,' Crosby says. The ref is breaking up some shoving behind Alex. They have time. 'It's the same way he looks at you.'

Alex looks over at the visitors bench just as the puck drops, long enough to lose the face-off embarrassingly. Crosby grins, before wheeling away to chase it down towards Varly.

-

Washington beats the Pens 6-3. Zhenya is so angry it's bubbling over, drawing Alex in. 

Alex takes deep breaths and watches the white jersey's skate off the ice. Zhenya's shoulders are slumped. 

Alex fights off the urge to follow Zhenya down the tunnel, and bumps his helmet against Varly's, ignores the anger deep in his gut.

He doesn't get a chance to see him before the Pens fly back to Pittsburgh.

-

The Caps get bounced from the playoffs in the first round.

Alex thinks he should probably feel sad, but mostly he feels numb. Guilty.

Like it's his fault they lost to Montreal.

Zhenya turns up at his house with a bottle of vodka and an uncertain expression. Alex hugs him like he's a lifejacket.

They get sloppy drunk and they don't talk about hockey.

They fall asleep with Zhenya's arm locked tight around Alex's waist, and his bare chest flush against Alex's back. The tips of his fingers brush the edge of Alex's tattoo, and he's murmuring in low Russian that Alex can barely make out.

It's probably the best night of sleep Alex has had since before Vancouver.

-

Alex clears out his locker at the Verizon, and flies up to Pittsburgh.

He spends his time playing in Zhenya's back yard with Jeffrey and reorganising his fridge, just to watch the look on Crosby's face when he comes round for breakfast every morning before a game.

Alex tries not to think about how if Montreal hadn't beaten them, Washington would be playing Pittsburgh right now. He loves being on the ice with Zhenya.

Loves being on the opposite team far less.

They fall asleep in the same bed every night, and don't talk about it. Alex feels like something has to give eventually. 

He feels like it's going to be him.

-

Pittsburgh take it to seven games, and lose. Alex can't watch any of the games, feels like he's going to hit something every time he sees the Canadiens logo, but he's feeding Jeffrey when he's hit by a wave of heartbreak, and his stomach drops. He swallows, hard, reaches for his phone, and puts it back down without typing anything.

Zhenya doesn't come home that night. Alex doesn't sleep, spends the night tossing and turning and feeling borrowed emotions heavy on his chest. Zhenya has always worn his emotions on  his sleeve. They're even harder for Alex to deal with now.

-

At 6am he breaks, and texts Zhenya.

_Come home. Please._

He doesn't realise he's called Zhenya's house home until he sends it.

-

Zhenya comes home with the sunrise. There are bags carved under his eyes, and his back is curved with the weight of loss.

Alex kisses him without thinking about it. 

Something inside him clicks into place. Zhenya kisses him back. 

The heartbreak inside Alex starts to dissipate. Emotions reverberate, he thinks, and pushes at the bond, pushes everything he has into it while Zhenya clings to him.

_Izvinite_ , Alex says, over and over.  _Izvinite_. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. 


End file.
